Wait until they see him up close and start batting their eyes at him. She was making him wait until Friday, when she was positive that any woman in this room would have let him take her against the spare tires in the supply room with a great big grin on her face. Shoot. Damn it. Why was she making him wait? Why was she risking what was growing between them?
And then suddenly there he was, standing in the doorway of the office. She felt him, but she also heard the dreamy sighs from at least two of the four women waiting.
“Afternoon, ladies,” said Cain, standing in front of the four women waiting in guest chairs. “My girlfriend, Ginger, here, told me y’all were lookin’ for a motorcycle mechanic. That right?”
Ginger’s lips trembled as she watched two of the women—Conspiratorially and Insecurely—quickly deflate at the news of Cain’s “girlfriend.” One of them made an excuse about needing a car mechanic, and the other said she thought he serviced bicycles too. When he politely referred one to a garage down the street and the other to the local bike shop, he was left with two.
Flirtatiously stuck out her boobs, sucked a finger into her mouth, and asked if Cain would check her gears.
“Sure,” he said, nodding. “For gear problems, I charge four hundred dollars an hour. If you’ll go ahead and give Ginger your credit card, I can schedule you for a—”
“Four hundred dollars?” she cried, her finger falling forgotten to her side. “Forget it!”
She stomped out of the office, leaving Cain, Ginger, and Queen Bee alone. Ginger braced herself. Queen Bee was five-foot-nine, tan even though it was winter, with straight reddish-blonde hair and bright green eyes. She was stunning and she knew it.
“Mr. Wolfram,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m Saffron Barnett. But my friends call me Saffy.”
“Miss Barnett, I’m Cain,” he said warmly, taking her hand and shaking it.
Ginger tightened her jaw, her fingers curling into fists, her eyes fixed on Cain’s hand in Queen Bee Saffy’s grasp.
“Seein’ as how you’re new in town and I’m the assistant to the head of the Versailles Chamber of Commerce, I thought that maybe we could grab some dinner on Friday and . . .” She chuckled, her low, sexy voice a suggestive rumble. “. . . you know, see what happens.”
Cain smiled at her, pumping her hand one more time before dropping it.
“Miss Barnett? You see that gal sittin’ over there? You couldn’t have missed her. She’s the prettiest, sweetest girl in the whole world, and I’ve been in love with her for as long as I can remember. You see her, right?”
Miss Barnett gave Ginger a frosty glance, then cleared her throat. “I noticed her, yes.”
“Well, I don’t go out to dinner unless she’s doin’ the arrangin’ and ends up sittin’ beside me while we dine. So I’m goin’ to get back to work now. And if you’d like to schedule that dinner with Ginger, I’m sure she’d be glad to accommodate you on our schedule.” He looked at Ginger. “Right, baby?”
With that, Cain gave Ginger a sexy smile, winked at her, then turned and left the office.
“Did you want to schedule—” started Ginger, squelching a grin and opening Cain’s calendar.
Miss Barnett picked up her purse and gave Ginger a snotty smirk. “It’ll keep for another day. Take care, now.”
As she flounced away, Ginger’s heart swelled with so much love, it spilled into every crack and crevice of her body, until she was warm all over, and she knew—beyond any shadow of doubt—it didn’t matter how inexperienced she was. She wouldn’t disappoint Cain, because he loved her. And because some things—no matter how long they take to finally happen—are simply meant to be.
Chapter 32
“Ranger, Miz Ginger, good to see y’all. Why don’t you come on into my office and we’ll have a chat about Kelleyanne.”
Ginger followed her father into Dr. Sheridan’s office and took a seat across from him at one of three guest chairs.
The doctor opened the file on his desk and sighed, looking up at the McHuids with sympathy in his eyes.
“Kelleyanne has entered what we call the end stage of Parkinsons. Ranger, I know you’ve noticed that she’s become more disoriented lately.”
Ginger’s father cleared his throat. “Just lately, in the past couple of weeks. She asks about my sister, Amy, who passed away as a child. Asks to see her.”
Dr. Sheridan nodded. “That’s common. Even expected. I fear it’s goin’ to go quickly now.” He turned to Ginger. “She’s been incontinent for a while now, and we’ve had some issues with chokin’. I need to recommend . . .”—Ginger’s heart dropped—“. . . a feedin’ tube. It’s just safer.”
Safer, but it meant that Gran wouldn’t be able to talk very much anymore. It would tickle her throat and bother her to talk, which essentially meant that their wonderful, long talks would be over.
“When?” she asked.